Page 15 of Wicked Bonds
I want to warn her. I want to protect her. I want to tear down every wall in this place just to see her free.
But I am a ghost, and the only thing ghosts can do is watch.
The sun begins its slow climb, and the attic gets incrementally brighter. I close my eyes and pretend that I am not alone.
Maybe this time, it will be different.
Maybe this time, I won’t let go.
Seven
Soren
My appetite is a problem that doesn’t go away when I close my eyes. If anything, it gets worse in the hour before sunrise, when the walls between worlds are thin and the only thing hungrier than a demon is the house cat that lives on the second floor.
The cat’s name is Galanthis, and he’s currently perched outside Room 304, swishing his tail with the impatience of an executioner. He watches me with eyes narrowed, as if he knows exactly what I’m about to do. I give him a stare, the feline equivalent offuck off, and let myself into the darkened room.
Inside, the new girl Rose is dead to the world. She sleeps like she’s getting ready to fight something, limbs sprawled, teeth gritted, fists clenched. I can taste the lingering magic that’s not quite contained by her body. It’s like standing next to a downed power line.
I stand over her for a moment, considering. As an incubus, I’m supposed to wait for the invitation, permission, a crack in thewill. I’m not some alleyway parasite desperate for a fix. I can afford to be picky.
Dreams are my business, and business is always good at the Serpentine Academy. Especially the hours before dawn, when the boundaries weaken and the whole dormitory vibrates with the hormonal stew of two hundred witches and assorted magical miscreants.
I’ve done this for centuries, since they invented bedrooms. You’d think the thrill would dull, or at least develop a dull covering of shame, but the opposite is true. Sexual desire never stops being fun, especially when you feed off it for a living.
Tonight’s prey is especially delicious. She’s new, so her shields are shit.
I get comfortable at the edge of her mattress and let myself in.
Her dream opens to me with a sigh and I slip inside her head.
It’s not a normal dream, which is a nice change. Some girls dream of falling or drowning or running naked through school. Rose is dreaming of fighting, her knuckles bloodied, her mouth curled in a snarl. Lucien is there at the edge of the ring, bare-chested and smug as hell. He’s not fighting, just watching. Judging. There are hands around Rose’s throat, but she’s not afraid. She’s pissed.
I slip into the role of her opponent. She wants a fight, I’ll give her the best dreamscape brawl she’s ever had.
We trade blows. She doesn’t hold back, even in her own subconscious. She’s fast, dirty, and creative. I let her get in a few good hits, then when she’s close enough, I shift the script, let the hands on her throat slip lower, slide down her chest, the gripgoing from chokehold to caress. Her whole body floods with that sweet undercurrent my job is to find. She grabs my wrists, pulls me down, and the next thing I know we’re rolling on the mat.
I let her pin me. She’s got a knee to my ribs, two fists grabbing my shirt, and her breath is hot and angry against my ear. I make sure it hurts, just enough, not more than she wants. My hands slide up her sides, and I feel the shiver run through her even as she snarls through it. Her dream self wants to kill me but her real self wants something else entirely, and I can taste it as the lines between the two collapse.
I flip her easily, pressing her shoulders to the mat. Underneath the anger, the heat, I pull her wrists up above her head, hold them there with one hand.
She’s not a sadist, not really, but she likes it rough. I file that away for later. I drag my mouth along her jaw, slow and deliberate, and whisper in her ear, “Is this what you want?”
She arches up, the answer yes in every muscle.
I decide to oblige.
Her dream obliges too, shifting the scenery from a boxing ring to a bed. She’s not wearing anything, and neither am I, because this is a dream, after all. She’s on top again, riding me with the same relentless hunger that drove her fight. Her nails rake down my chest, leaving marks that feel real enough to burn. Out of the corner of my eye I see Rose’s dream version of Lucien sitting in a chair watching us.Fucking Lucien. But I don’t care about Lucien, real or illusion right now, because this girl needs to come.
The energy starts flowing then, that sweet rush of life force that feeds me. It’s incredible with her, stronger, wilder, like capturinglightning in a bottle then drinking it. Her magic bleeds into everything, making the dream vivid enough to taste the salt of her skin.
I roll us again, pinning her beneath me, and her eyes burn into mine with fury and want. I’ll have to find out later what’s making this woman so angry. Can’t say I’m not enjoying it though. I slide down her body, trailing kisses and bites along her ribs, her hipbone, until I reach the place where she’s wet and ready. When I put my mouth on her, she bucks against me with a curse that would make a sailor blush.
“Soren,” she gasps, and hearing my name on her lips sends a shock through me that has nothing to do with feeding.
She knows it’s me. Somehow, she’s aware of me being here.
I work her with my tongue and lips until she’s trembling, until her thighs clamp around my head and her fingers grab in my hair. The lust and sexual energy pouring off her is incredible. I drink it in, feeling stronger than I have in months.
